Page 38 of Washed Up

‘I didn’t know, did I? I thought you were just playing it cool. I was playing it cool. You gotta do that with celebrities, haven’t you?’ Sally gave her shoulders a squeeze. ‘Sorry, Franks. At least we got to meet him, eh? That was mad.’

‘Mad is one word for it,’ she grumbled.

Frankie took a breath and unlocked Sally’s phone with the PIN they had both shared for years. Sally’s birth year combined with Frankie’s birthday. Neither could be bothered to think of a new one. She went straight to Instagram. At least, small mercies, the wifi was back up and running.

Sure enough, there was Dylan, front and centre, in the same outfit she’d seen him in that first morning, but this time he was very much awake, standing behind a microphone, guitar slung across that chest of his. Sweaty and arrogant and looking for all the world like a born rock star.

‘That was him at RockFest the other night, look,’ said Sally.

‘Helpful, thanks,’ said Frankie. She let out a small groan. ‘I can’t actually believe that man was on our island. It’s crazy.’

‘Think we ought to put up a commemorative post box or something?’

‘That’s not a bad idea. Would he have to come back to officially open it?’ said Frankie, looking up at her friend.

Sally laughed. ‘I was being sarcastic.’

‘Sorry. Missed that.’

‘If it would make you happy, I’m sure we can arrange it.’

‘It would. Oh my God, Sal, I can’t believe he was here.’

‘Soooo…’ said Sally. ‘Did you two…?’

Frankie gave her the best side eye she could muster. ‘Did we… what?’

‘You know.’

‘No, I don’t know. Did we what?’

Her best friend grinned, blue eyes sparkling. ‘Did he show you his suite, if you know what I mean?’

That man. Making her blush even when he wasn’t here. ‘The whole bloody world knows what you mean.’

‘Did you?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Did he ask you?’

Frankie faltered at that. ‘Yes. Maybe.’

Sally let out a squeak. ‘I knew it.’

Frankie laughed. ‘Calm down. Nothing happened.’

‘But you wanted it to.’

‘I don’t know what I wanted. Yes. No. I don’t know.’

‘Did you kiss him?’

‘Not really.’

Her friend scoffed. ‘Then you didn’t. Does he know you’ve never…?’

Frankie shook her head violently. ‘No, of course not, as if I was going to tell him that.’ She gestured to the band’s Instagram again, where she was still scrolling their feed as she spoke, one eye out for every photo of Dylan, every gesture, every pose. No sign of a girlfriend, anyway.